Nothing Makes Sense To Me
by spongecake 2
Summary: Asking me that is like asking a child why the sky is blue, or why a midget isn't tall. It's just the way I am. It's what I do! Read and review.


**Nothing Makes Sense to Me**

**By spongecake2**

**Author's Note: Now some people may say the Bryan I write in this **_**may**_** be inspired by Heath Ledger and his performance of the Joker. Allow me to address these notions. Of course he bloody was! Ledger was FUCKING awesome. Well, with that out the way, on with the thing. I always was a bit of a Bryan fan. I like the way that Namco decided that he didn't seem like the kind of guy to have any storyline other than the whole KILLING THOUSANDS XD LOL PWN! thing so they just ran with it. I don't own Tekken. If I did, I'd be to busy hiring tramps to have fights in space shuttles to write Fan fiction.**

The psychologist pulled up a chair. The cold room on the other side of that steel plating held one of the most dangerous men in the world, possibly_ the_ most dangerous. No windows, no doors, no bricks. Made entirely out of steel, the only thing in the room being a small intercom system upon a table. The steel itself could withstand a bombing raid, which was the average power dealt out by the man inside. The psychologist sat at his own table. He pressed the small red button on the intercom and spoke into the microphone.

"Hello, Mr Fury. If you can hear me, please reply." The psychologist said emotionlessly. However, in his head, his desires and dreams shot up like fireworks. If he made this case, the case into exploring Bryan Fury's mind and his origins, he could make himself millions. Fourteen guards stood behind him, awaiting the answer.

"I hear ya, sir." A happy, cheerful voice replied joyously. "How may I help?" The psychologist looked to the guards.

"Is he this eager often?" He asked one. The guard shrugged his shoulders. The psychologist turned back to the microphone. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. I would like you to answer them, Mr Fury."

"Certainly sir." Bryan replied. The psychologist took a deep breath. Better make a good first impression.

"Are you happy here?" He asked. The reply was a laugh. One that wasn't sarcastic, or malicious, or even short of content.

"Of course." Bryan said between chuckles. "I'd be happier out there, in the big wide world, but this is nice too." The psychologist wrote some notes down, and asked his next question.

"Do you know where you came from?" The scientist asked. The sound of more joyous laughter followed.

"Does anyone?" He asked him. "Where do you come from? Europe, America, Japan, who knows? Or indeed where do _I _come from. Maybe Doctor Abel created me from a DNA sample. Maybe I'm a corpse he brought back to life. Maybe I have amnesia, and he simply told me I was created. Maybe I was born here, and just thought I was ever something else. Who knows? It's a mystery..." Bryan stopped, seemingly to think.

"I like mysteries. They fascinate me. The King of Iron Fist Tournament was the biggest. I think that's why I went back. No one knew what was behind the scenes. What with all that Mishima bullshit. Woah, that was some weird shit."

"And that's where you were caught?" The psychologist asked.

"That's where I was _found._" Bryan corrected him. "I was never caught. As long as I can still avoid becoming 'normal' I will never be caught."

"Don't you want to be normal?" The psychologist asked.

"No!" Bryan said. "Where's the fun in that? People think I'm crazy, you see, yet to me, you're the crazy ones. I mean, money is just paper. Sex is just rubbing against somebody else. Cigarettes are just leaves. You go to work everyday even though you don't like it to get paper just so you can give it to other people. Why not cut out the middle man and give the paper to those who want it in the first place? Nothing in your world makes sense to me."

"Well, you killing people thoughtlessly makes no sense to us, Mr Fury. Why do you do that?" The psychologist was getting annoying. This was supposed to be simple case, and Bryan was avoiding answering questions by blatantly using them to insult him.

"Asking me why I kill is like..." Bryan thought for a while. "Asking me why I kill is like asking a child why the sky is blue, or asking a midget why he isn't tall. I just do kill. It's what I do. Abel created the strongest man in the world, and he got him. He didn't say anything about obedience or morals."

"Didn't you just say Abel may not have created, and now you confirm he had?" The psychologist asked. That's it, he thought. Now I've got him cornered.

"If you think I did, then sure." Bryan replied. The psychologist smiled.

"So you _were_ created by Abel, then?" He asked. A pause.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?" Bryan said. The psychologist pounded the table with his fist. "Temper, temper." The chirping noise of Bryan mocking sounded through the microphone.

"You are not co-operating here, Mr Fury." The psychologist scowled.

"Well, I'm afraid I have my own agenda. As I said before..." The voice then stopped. Footsteps were heard. Then a fist smashed through the steel. The guard drew their guns and fired. Bryan walked through the wall of ammunition, brushing a few specks of dust off his shoulder. He walked over to one guard, and punched him. He unleashed a flurry of kicks, punches and knees into the guards, who slumped to the floor one by one. The psychologist stood up to get away. Bryan caught him by the scruff of his neck. "... I'd be happier out there, in the big wide world." He said, quoting himself. He raised his fist. He laughed. The fist came down.

Black. And nothing else.

**Yes... sorry about the lack of fics, but I've been working on other stuff, and Volley of Bullets is simply floating in the air. I was considering for a while for asking another writer on Fan fiction if they would want to do a collab work, but I don't know how that would work out. Maybe by sending PM's with ideas and text they wrote, or pieces of paper in the form of paper aeroplanes, maybe I should ask for help, because judging by the progress of ideas, it'll never get done, of course I could just bake a big pie of ideas and throw it at a wall, see which ones come up... sorry, lost my trail of thought. I would ask you to read and review, but you just have read it. So... err... review.**


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